


A Pupil

by Eglantine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen, Historical AU, Pacifism, Socialism, World War 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:11:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1484131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eglantine/pseuds/Eglantine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the dawn of the first World War, Courfeyrac introduces “a pupil” to his circle of friends. In which Combeferre is an antimilitarist, Courfeyrac fancies himself a paladin, and Laigle is impressed by people who are capable of brevity. And nothing much really happens.</p>
<p>From a tumblr challenge (almost a year ago, oops)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pupil

Combeferre couldn’t remember the point he’d been making which concluded with the date “10 May, 1871”—but whatever it had been, in retrospect, it wasn’t worth it.

“In my defense,” Courfeyrac said, “I told you he was a pupil.” But this was in retrospect, too.

In the moment, though, all eyes were on Pontmercy—Courfeyrac’s flatmate Pontmercy, shy and badly dressed, who hadn’t spoken a word since Courfeyrac had started dragging him to meetings. Pontmercy, as he strode over to the old map of France under the Republic that someone had pinned up long ago and pressed his finger to the northern border.

“Alsace-Lorraine,” he said. “A province which will make France great.” 

“France does not need Alsace to be great,” Enjolras replied.

The next several minutes proved that Pontmercy disagreed.

“You said he was a socialist,” Joly hissed as Pontmercy held forth. “You said he was thrown out of his grandfather’s for being a Dreyfusard!”

“We ought to put him in an exhibit,” Laigle, on Joly’s other side, whispered thoughtfully. “The rare revanchist-Dreyfusard. We should ask him who he would pick if he had to choose between Guesde and Jaurés.”

“Don’t ask him anything!” Joly protested. “Combeferre is already looking murderous.”

“Is he?” Laigle whispered, amused. Combeferre, across the table, had his gaze fixed on Pontmercy with a look of perfect calm.

“Yes,” both Joly and Courfeyrac replied. 

*

“To be  _free!_ ” Laigle crowed afterwards, still laughing. “How is it he says in three words what would take the rest of us thirty?”

 “And for you, sixty,” Joly said.

“It’s not that I’m opposed to war—” Combeferre began, but Courfeyrac interrupted.

“Yes you are.”

“—yes, I am,” he conceded. “Or at least, this war.”

“But if the war is happening—if it’s happening, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it,” Courfeyrac insisted. “Then agree or disagree, surely if we care for France’s future, it is our duty to come to her defense?”

“Now we see why he brought Pontmercy,” Laigle said with a grin. “Don’t tell me you’re a closet warmonger as well, Courfeyrac.”

“ _No_ ,” Courfeyrac said firmly, though he mirrored Laigle’s grin. “I only think that having done what we can to try and prevent it—and having, to judge by the way the wind is blowing—having failed—”

 “Having failed, we give in?” Combeferre arched an eyebrow. “That’s unlike you.”

“It is unlike me,” he agreed. “Which is why it is not my point. My point is, his misplaced enthusiasm aside, Pontmercy may have inadvertently raised a good point. If war comes, what is our role? Strikes and protests are one thing when we are trying to prevent it, but is undermining it once it has begun really in our best interest?”

“You just want to fight. You fancy yourself a paladin who can save Lady France with your sword,” Combeferre said, and Courfeyrac, taking this as a concession, grinned. But after a moment, the smile faded into a more thoughtful expression.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Maybe I do.”

*

When Marius looked up again, he was surprised to see that Enjolras still had not left.

“If France is your mother,” he said quietly. “Why would you not defend her?”

“I defend her by keeping her from needless violence,” Enjolras replied. 

“I don’t remember my mother,” Marius said suddenly, and he didn’t know why. “And all I have of my father is this.”

And with that, Marius left, too bewildered to take any satisfaction from the fact that he had left Enjolras at a loss for what to say.


End file.
